Prompted
by massivelyattacked
Summary: A series of unrelated scenes written in response to Cherith's "Dragon Age Random Prompt Generator" on Tumblr. Pairings & prompts may see some duplication. Recent updates: Leandra asks for forgiveness.
1. A Summerday Tradition

**I love it when I have a conversation with a fellow fanfic author that inspires me to do something fun in the way I think this is going to end up being. So when karebear decided to respond to a "ten minute" challenge, we briefly talked about how it went, and I didn't think I'd be able to do it. Then I mentioned how I always wanted to try a drabble style challenge. And after spending about an hour on the Dragon Age Random Prompt Generator at (scattereddelusions dot com slash avs slash DAPrompts dot html), I realized I had accumulated about five pages of prompts I wanted to write stories for. That's a lot. Enter the idea to do the ten minute/drabble challenge, and I have decided to put together a collection of short scenes based solely upon the prompts generated. I've seen this idea put into practice by other authors (though I don't know if they use the prompt generator), and the stories always turn out so well! Thanks so much to Cherith and the Tumblr community for such a great little tool.**

**Anyhow…on with the stories…some of the prompts will be duplicates, as well as the pairings, but these are the randoms that caught my eye.**

**As usual…everything that follows belongs to Bioware/EA Games.**

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><p>Pairing: Malcolm HawkeBethany Hawke  
>Prompt: Go camping<p>

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><p><em>A Summerday Tradition<em>

"But papa," Bethany protested. "We have to! We do this every year on Summerday. It's not fair that we have to miss out on it just because some stupid Templars have been nosing around."

"I'm sorry, my dear," Malcolm replied. "It has to be this way. They came too close to finding us out in the past few days. We'll postpone it until they leave the village."

"It's _not_ going to be the same," the young girl protested. Spinning on her heel, she ignored her father's attempts to placate her and stomped off to the room that she shared with her sister, Marian.

It _wasn't_ fair that she and her family were forced to live in hiding simply because she and her father were mages. It was bad enough that they had to move around quite a bit when she was younger, but after settling in Lothering, she thought that they would be able to at least _live_ a bit more. And now the Templars were ruining even that. Her favourite time to spend with her father alone…camping in the woods nearby. She perhaps shouldn't have taken out her frustrations on her father – he was more than aware of just how imbalanced a life on the run could leave a person.

She sighed and sat unhappily on her bed. If this was an indication of how the rest of the warm season would go, she might as well just lock the door to her room at that very moment and ignore the outside world.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard the knock at her door.

"Bethany? When you have a moment, perhaps you could come back out here and speak to me?"

It was her father.

Of _course_ she had a moment. Now that she had nothing to do for Summerday, she had nothing but time on her hands.

Begrudgingly, she dragged herself out into the main living area of their home. She saw her father standing in the middle of the room, standing proudly next to a construct of blankets and sheets.

The man had made a tent…in the middle of their home!

"You're right, Bethany," he admitted. "We shouldn't let the Templars force us to miss out on a tradition like this."

Without a word, she hurried to her father's side, embracing him tightly.

This might just be the best Summerday yet.


	2. Seduction Techniques of the Alpha Female

Pairing: Anora/Sandal  
>Prompt: Aphrodisiac<p>

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><p><em>Seduction Techniques of the Alpha Female<em>

"Keep looking," Anora demanded. She stood over the dwarf as he rifled through the large wooden chest.

"Nope," he replied. "Nothin'."

She huffed loudly in disgust. Why she was even bothering with the dwarf was a mystery to her. It wasn't as though Sandal really understood the request in the first place. She would have to go about this a different way.

Stepping out of her room for a moment to ensure that Alistair and the others were not on their way up to the royal wing of the palace in Denerim, she hurried back to where the dwarf sat on the ground to reformulate her question.

"Sandal, what I'm looking for will be an herb…or perhaps a potion," she said sweetly.

He turned to face her and she saw the large smile that had spread across his face. He reached his hand into the chest and pulled out a vial of red liquid. "Potion!" he exclaimed proudly.

"No…no, not a healing potion," she replied, frustrated. "What I'm looking for is something that will…make someone a bit more attractive to another person. Something called an aphrodisiac." If this arrangement with Alistair to marry and rule Ferelden together was going to work, they were going to need a bit of…assistance in the process of producing an heir.

As Sandal returned the potion to the chest, he looked thoughtful. His face scrunched up a little as he thought through what could possibly suit her request from his inventory. A few moments later and his face brightened up.

Anora looked at him expectantly as he turned around to rifle through the chest once more. Almost immediately, he spun back around excitedly. In his hand, he held what appeared to be a hood…similar to the hoods that mages wore, but this hood also had a mask. It would have almost completely obscured the face of the wearer.

She took the hood into her hands and examined it carefully.

"Hmm…not exactly what I had in mind," she began with a shrug, "but it's a start. Now, perhaps you have some ale to go with this?"


	3. Dessert Seeker

Pairing: Morrigan & Sten  
>Prompt: Bearer of bad news<p>

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><p><em>Dessert Seeker<em>

It had been a long day of traveling for the two remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden and their companions. Camp was always a welcome relief for tired legs and feet. Yet, Morrigan preferred to stand, regardless of how long they had been walking about. As she typically set up her own small shelter and fire away from the rest of the group, standing gave her a vantage point of the others that she'd not have achieved had she crouched near the fire or sat on the ground.

It afforded her a view of the goings on of the others…and on this night, of the large Qunari warrior frantically searching through the supplies of the camp for…something.

She eyed him carefully. His attempts at stealth were laughable, yet each time he opened another crate or sack, she could see him peer around behind him; presumably, he hoped not to be discovered snooping through someone else's goods.

She had no idea just what it was he was seeking.

She sighed loudly, realizing that her curiosity would not be sated unless she discovered what he was looking for. She approached him silently and stood behind him as he kneeled in between several crates. Just as he was about to open one of them, she loudly cleared her throat.

He spun around, looking about as shocked as any one of the giants of the Kossith race could – which she supposed was very little.

"May I help you, mage?" he asked as he turned around and got to his feet.

"Why, this is quite coincidental, for I was about to ask the same thing of you," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I do not need your help," he replied.

She placed a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you looking for?"

"It is none of your concern," he said, furrowing his brow.

"Regardless, my curiosity is piqued. I would like to know what drives you to open every container in camp," she said.

He sighed. "I don't suppose you will leave me to my own devices until I tell you."

She shook her head.

"Very well," he responded in defeat. "I am looking for…the small baked treats that were purchased no more than a day ago in Denerim."

"Cookies?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You're tearing apart camp…for cookies?" Her eyes had widened significantly at his revelation.

"They are delicious and satisfying," he said, matter-of-factly. "I would like more."

"I see," she said. Her eyes flickered as she looked beyond him…beyond the main fire towards where the other companions had gathered. "Much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, it would appear that the cookies are no longer available for your enjoyment. Unless you'd like to fight the dog for them."

Sten looked over his shoulder. He could see the two Wardens knelt by the mabari hound, hand feeding it what appeared to be the last of the cookies purchased by the group. He turned back to face Morrigan, his face displaying obvious disappointment.

"Vashedan!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed."


	4. Love To Hate You

Pairing: Branka/Oghren  
>Prompt: When no one is looking<p>

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><p><em>Love To Hate You<em>

"By the Ancestors, Oghren!" Branka shouted. "Is it _really_ necessary that you do this now?"

She stared at him with a scowl as he picked at his toenails with a rusty dagger.

"When _else_ am I going to do this woman? Can't very well just pull my boots off in Tapster's now, can I?" he replied. "Although, now that you mention it."

"I can't believe what kind of a vile, disgusting, worthless son of a whore you are," she growled.

Oghren threw his dagger to the side and rose to his feet. He approached where Branka sat on the cold stone bench and settled in behind her. He reached up to place his hands upon her shoulders, giving her a squeeze.

"And that's why you love me," he suggested.

She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Of course, you dumb oaf." She leaned back against him and rested her head on his shoulder. "That's exactly why."


	5. Cleanliness is Not Next to Godwin

Pairing: Godwin/Finn  
>Prompt: Hot bath<p>

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><p><em>Cleanliness is Not Next to Godwin<em>

"Oh, come on now Flora! Haven't you ever wanted to get your hands dirty doing something exciting like this?" Godwin said quietly, leaning in towards his fellow mage.

"My name is Florian Phineas Horatio—look…just call me Finn, okay?" the young linguist requested. "And actually, no. I would rather not get involved in your schemes."

It was a wonder that Godwin had not yet been locked in the Circle Tower's vast dungeon system yet, for the man had certainly made it apparent that he was involved in some shady dealings with the dwarves of Orzammar. Blackmarket lyrium smuggling. Not Finn's cup of tea to be sure – he was happy to stick to his own interests. The most dangerous of which might include the odd paper cut from a rogue text he was studying.

"Suit yourself," Godwin replied, pushing himself out of the uncomfortable wooden chair he sat in. "But don't come crawling to me when my dirty little fingers are counting up the sovereigns I'm about to be rolling in."

_Coin_, Finn thought to himself. _Also dirty._ Everything Godwin said made him feel that way…_dirty_. Sighing, he closed the tome he'd been reading and gathered his belongings. He itched at his arms through his robes. He'd most certainly need a long, hot bath after this conversation.


	6. Sleepwalker

Pairing: Alistair/Connor Guerrin  
>Prompt: I will soothe your pain<p>

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><p><em>Sleepwalker<em>

It was the third night is as many weeks that the young boy had made his way down to the wing where Alistair's room was located. Connor, barely four years old, had lately been prone to sleepwalking through the halls of the large fortress that overlooked Redcliffe Village. Normally the boy simply wandered through the corridor, and then returned to his room – whether he woke up during the event or not.

But this night was different. This night he heard the young boy…speaking…while he slept. Mumbling words…undecipherable words, yet words all the same. It sounded as though he were in the midst of an argument. Or something…

"No," Connor murmured. "No…don't want…to…"

The one-sided conversation prompted Alistair to leave the comfort and warmth of the flat, hard bed he slept in…where its comfort and warmth were measured relative to the floor of an animal stable. At least his Uncle Eamon allowed him in the castle this past month…even if it were only in the servant's quarters.

He padded across the floor softly, his bare feet cold on the stones. Peering around the corner of his doorway, he saw Connor trip and fall to his knees. He hurried towards the young boy, who awakened suddenly at the impact. A tear began to fall from the corner of his eye on to his pale cheek.

"Connor…it's me. Alistair," he said quietly. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, sniffing loudly.

"Here…let me take a look at that knee." Connor stuck his legs out from under him as Alistair pulled the legs of his bedclothes above his knees. The right knee had an abrasion that looked on the verge of breaking open, but there was no blood on either knee. "Just a scrape, Connor. Look…no blood."

The boy looked down at his knees, seeming satisfied with Alistair's examination. "How did I get here?"

Alistair shrugged. "Don't know, Connor. Come on…let me help you up and back to bed."

Connor reached his hand up and Alistair took it, helping him to his feet. The small boy refused to let go of the older boy's hand until he had been safely returned to his own room.

"Alistair?"

"Yes, Connor?"

"Can you stay in here until I fall asleep? There's a chair right next to my bed."

"Of course."

The small boy curled up on to his side as Alistair pulled the chair closer to the bed. It would be the last night that he would be able to spend comforting Connor's fears and worries. He'd already packed for the Chantry.

Today was the last day with this "family".

Tomorrow he would be sent to train as a Templar. Tomorrow would be the first day of the new life he wasn't sure he wanted. He wondered if he'd ever see his cousin again. Perhaps he would…after all, life had a funny way of coming full circle.


	7. Sleep to Dream

Pairing: Anders/Feynriel  
>Prompt: In the shadows<p>

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><p><em>Sleep to Dream<em>

The healer and the dreamer sat across the small table from each other, contemplating what they had both just been through. Hawke asked Anders specifically to come with him on their rescue mission to save Feynriel from his dreams in the Fade. And he obliged…of course he obliged.

Though Hawke really had no idea it would truly be Justice answering the call, rather than Anders.

It was also a surprise to Feynriel, when they had finally spoken in the Fade. The Somniari wasn't expecting a rescue to be sure…but he certainly had not expected a Fade spirit to be present during said rescue.

When they finally returned to the waking world, Feynriel eyed Anders suspiciously. The man who stood before him looked like the man he saw in the Fade, but he was not the same. He was not merely the spirit, but a mage. Tortured. Haunted.

The two conversed for many hours – Anders explained his story as the younger man listened intently. And near the end, Feynriel had an idea.

"Perhaps you should come with me…to Tevinter?" he suggested. "You could do good work there as well. Fight the demons of the Imperium in the flesh. And maybe there you could discover a way to help yourself and the spirit. To…separate."

The healer considered the dreamer's words carefully. At times, he felt like one of those demons Feynriel suggested he help to fight. To be able to separate himself from the spirit…? What a _gift_ that could be...yet...

"No. I cannot leave," Anders replied thoughtfully. "There are too many monsters in the shadows of Kirkwall that need purging."

Himself included.


	8. Washed Clean

**Yay! Anders has decided that he has not completely abandoned me as a muse and has allowed me to re-enter his world of angst. Thank you darling…I was missing you...**

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><p>Pairing: NorahAnders  
>Prompt: The patter of rain<p>

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><p><em>Washed Clean<em>

As he sat at the table nearest the back corner of the Hanged Man, Anders sat nursing the ale he'd purchased close to an hour prior. The ale that by all accounts, would do nothing but fizz in his mouth and down his throat – for the effects of such beverages were severely lacking on him. And even now, the foam that had settled on the surface of the liquid when it was poured had dissolved. The taste was no longer what it should have been.

He thought to flag down the barmaid – the woman, Norah – as she flitted about the tavern from table to table. She was a fixture in this place. All the drunks in Lowtown came here for Norah just as much as they did for the ale. She was pleasant enough to look at, Anders considered. In days past, back when he might have cared more for the soft caress of a women's touch…during a time when he'd have liked nothing more than to bury his face in her sweet bosom…he might even have approached her for a night alone. Just like all the others.

Yet, he sat alone. Wondering why he even bothered to visit this establishment any longer. Perhaps it was because withdrawing from his companions was the easiest way to justify what he had planned. No questions…no involvement. Only these plans of his.

He looked back at Norah – she was by no means a wealthy woman. But she lived comfortably enough. She was gainfully employed at least; more than could be said for hundreds scraping out a meagre existence in the rat-infested corridors of Darktown. More than could be said for his brethren… Had she ever felt trapped? Persecuted? Enslaved for simply being who she was? He doubted it.

Had she ever thought about what it would be like to never feel the wind on her face again? To never see the sun rise and set the way it was meant to be seen – not just behind the dust smeared windows of an ancient prison? To never feel the rains on her skin as she jumped between the puddles forming beneath her feet?

He wondered if she could ever appreciate just how easy it was to take those things for granted.

Soon they would be reminded of what it meant to have something taken away from them by force. They would realize that they couldn't take _anything_ for granted anymore. And they would pray to the Maker for the patter of rain to return to Kirkwall – to wash the blood from their streets and their hands.


	9. Difficult Choices

Pairing: Owain/Desire Demon  
>Prompt: Pull of attraction<p>

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><p><em>Difficult Choices<em>

"Come now, Owain," she whispered sweetly into his ear. "You are young and surely you must desire something greater than what you now possess."

"No…please," he mumbled. "Just let me be. I've had enough of your temptations for one night."

"You've never been the best at much, my little mage. But I can change that. I can give you anything you wish to have. Just say the word. The word is _so_ easy to say."

He looked around…trying to ignore the demon's whispers…the lingering fingertips upon his skin. The typical atmosphere of the Fade was not providing enough of a distraction for him this night.

She moved in front of him, clouding his field of vision with her haze. As she leaned in towards the side of his face, her murmur was like a song in his ear, filling him with a feeling inside of him he couldn't describe.

"I can make it so that none of your fellows will ever tease you again for lack of ability…because you'll be able to use any magic you wish. Or if you prefer, perhaps there is another arrangement we can work out." Her sickening tongue slithered out of her mouth and on to his cheek. But the attention…oh, the attention she paid him. He leaned forward into her grasp and she slid her hands up his chest and on to his shoulders, pulling him near to her.

For moments, he succumbed to her actions. Suddenly, as if sense had returned to him for mere seconds, he pushed her away. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," he repeated. "Go away…"

"As you wish, young Owain," she replied. "I shall save a place in my bed for you tomorrow."

He opened his eyes, sitting up abruptly in his bed. Sweat was pouring from his head. He jumped from the bunk and rushed into the hall, searching. Seeking.

Finally, he came upon a templar.

"Please," he began. "Please fetch the Knight Commander. You must allow me to submit to the Rite."

"You seek Tranquility, boy?"

Owain nodded. He could no longer face the demons alone.


	10. Run and Never Look Back

Pairing: Cullen/Anders  
>Prompt: There's something I need to tell you<p>

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><p><em>Run and Never Look Back<em>

The templar looked at the young blonde mage locked in the cell. He shook his head.

"When are you going to learn, Anders?"

The mage sat in the corner on the floor, arms wrapped around his drawn up knees and a frown upon his face. He shivered involuntarily.

"I'll never give up," Anders replied. "I won't give up until I'm far from this place…never to see you again. Why are you here anyway? You templars never come down here unless you want to beat me or gloat."

Cullen sighed. "I'm not here for either of those things. I…heard some troubling news."

The mage lifted his head up to look at him. "What kind of news?"

"About you," he replied. "I just…I had to let you know. Despite your successful Harrowing, your behaviour has…" He paused, roughly running his hand through his hair. "Greagoir has sent for approval to make you Tranquil."

"To…to make me Tranquil? Can they _do_ that?" he asked, his mouth agape.

"I don't know, but you shouldn't wait around to find out," Cullen warned. He slid the key into the lock and turned it quickly, listening as the heavy cell door slid open with a creak.

Anders jumped to his feet despite his weakened state. "What? Why…are you…?"

"Don't ask questions, mage. Just run," he replied. "Run and never look back."


	11. Unexpected Comfort

Pairing: Fenris/Varric  
>Prompt: Letting go<p>

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><p><em>Unexpected Comfort<em>

Varric sat alone in his room upstairs from the Hanged Man. It was normally his haven…his place of solitude. He could go there to escape the everyday horrors that came with being a close companion of Hawke. That man certainly found himself in all manner of trouble.

But at that moment, he did _not_ want to be alone. It was the last thing in the world he wanted. His brother Bartrand had been a complete ass to him for his entire life, but now…now he was gone. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel. How he was supposed to act. Should he be crying over the loss? Or…angry?

Being alone with only his thoughts to keep him company was the worst thing that could have happened at that moment.

So when the knock at the door sounded, relief flooded through him. That is, until the broody elf stuck his head around the corner.

It wasn't as though Varric didn't _like_ Fenris. He just didn't think that the elf would be able to provide the comfort he was looking for. Even Isabela would have been a more welcome sight.

Fenris made his way over to one of the large stone seats at his table and sat down. When he didn't say anything, Varric returned to his own chair at the head of the table.

Moments passed in silence as they awkwardly glanced at each other. Finally, Fenris broke the silence.

"We have all had our heartaches over the years, Varric. We may not have all suffered the same losses, but I take comfort in knowing that there is always someone who sympathizes. We'll all be here with open ears and supportive shoulders when the need arises. There will never be a right or wrong way to work through this, so long as it's not on your own."

Varric clenched his jaw as he looked up at the elf and nodded. Comfort sure did come from strange places sometimes…


	12. Bygones Be Bygones

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/The Warden  
>Prompt: I don't want to fight about it anymore<p>

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><p><em>Bygones Be Bygones<em>

"Calm down, Howe!"

He growled at her in protest. "I will not calm down!" he exclaimed. "You…_you_ are the one who struck the killing blow upon my father. How did you expect me to take the news, Cousland?"

The young woman hesitated, contemplating for the briefest of moments a sense of empathy towards the archer. But it was quickly replaced by vengeance. Her gauntleted hand balled into a fist, cocked back swiftly and throttled forward into the man's chin.

"Convenient how you forget just what your _father_ did to _my_ family," she hissed. She shook her head and turned away from him.

He struggled against his bindings in the cold cell of the keep. "Perhaps if your family wasn't so arrogant about their position in Ferelden," he mused aloud.

She turned around, her hand on the hilt of her blade, drawing it and placing the tip at his throat.

"What did you say?" Her eyebrow rose in anger and incredulity at his words. "How _dare_ you…"

He gasped as the pressure of the blade on his throat made his mortality feel very real in those moments. As their eyes met, her hatred seethed in those pupils; whereas all he had left to display was regret.

He sighed. "I…I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have." He felt the blade being forced further into his neck, a drop of blood being loosed from beneath the thick layer of skin.

"I'm sorry for what my father did," he whispered. "And I…"

"Nate," she said quietly, almost exasperated. The blade was withdrawn from his neck slowly. "Don't apologize for what he did. You aren't him." She sighed. "I'm done fighting with you over this. But I won't ever apologize for what I did to him. I just want you to know that."

"I don't know if…I can ever forget what you've done," he admitted.

She shook her head. "I'd never expect you to. But you _will_ be conscripted into the Grey Wardens, Nate. You have my word of that."

He took a deep breath, looking into her eyes. "Perhaps I will die a more honourable man than my father then." Sadly, he knew deep down that it would not be a challenge for him to do so. After all, the man slew the entire family of the woman standing before him. "Thank you, Elissa. For giving me the opportunity for redemption."

"Don't squander it avenging the death of your father anymore, Nathaniel," she replied. "You're better than that."

He nodded. She was right. It wasn't worth fighting her over any longer. And he _was_ better than that.


	13. Telling the Truth

Pairing: Jowan/Anders  
>Prompt: A confession<p>

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><p><em>Telling the Truth<em>

It was odd to see an apprentice in the Chantry chapel most days. Still, Greagoir never paid it much mind if on occasion he encountered a mage among the devout; praying to the Maker to forgive their transgressions.

But when he saw two such apprentices on opposite sides of the grand space in the Tower, it set his mind to wondering. _Just what are these two up to?_ He assumed the worst. One _always_ assumed the worst when Anders was involved. Though the presence of Jowan was a bit of a mystery. The two young boys had been seen together at times – running through the halls with the Surana girl. Still, Jowan hadn't made himself known as a troublemaker…_yet_.

Greagoir approached the two quietly, careful not to disturb them. Jowan however immediately recognized the man's presence and spun around to look at him. Suspicion crossed his face, but he remained quiet.

When the man stood almost directly adjacent to Anders, he noticed the boy's head was tilted towards the front of the room. His eyes were closed. _Maker's breath! Is he sleeping?_ Just as Greagoir was about to swat him in the back of the head, his head snapped straight up – his eyes remained closed.

But Anders began to speak in a hushed voice.

"Dear Maker…I hope you're listening. I'm sorry for trying to run away twice from the Tower. I know that they want to protect the world from us mages. But we aren't bad. We aren't what the rest of the world thinks. I'm not a bad person. I just want to be able to run in a wide open field. I want to be friends with someone who _isn't_ a mage. I want to see my mother again. Why is everyone so afraid of me?"

He paused, causing Greagoir to freeze in silence.

"And I don't hate the Templars. Well, not _all_ of them. Okay, there are _three_ Templars that I don't like. But there're some nice ones still. And sometimes I think they're just as stuck here as we are. Okay, well…if you're there, thanks for listening."

He quickly stood up and spun around; stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Greagoir.

"Oh…Knight Commander," he began. "I…uh…"

Jowan quickly ran over and grabbed Anders by the arm, pulling him away.

Greagoir chuckled at the young boys as they scurried away, but his expression quickly turned to a frown.

"Dear Maker," he said quietly. "Sometimes I wish we didn't have to lock away the children like this."

After all, the mages weren't the only ones who needed to confess.


	14. The Way You Look at Me

Pairing: Karl Thekla/Elsa  
>Prompt: Glower<p>

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><p><em>The Way You Look at Me<em>

He watched her from across the table. He paid attention to every movement she made as she carefully poured just the right amount of the proper substance into the vial. Alchemy had never been his specialty, but now, there seemed to be a certain appeal to it.

It was measured.

It was complete.

It was black and white.

There were no shades of grey where a potion was concerned. It either worked, or it did not.

And that suited Karl just fine.

There was order in such things. There was tidiness. It was calm. You could _expect_ things to be the same…over and over.

When he looked back over at her, he met her eyes.

"You do not look at me the same way you used to, Karl Thekla," she observed nonchalantly.

"I do not recall how I used to look at you, Elsa," he replied, just as dispassionately as she.

"I would not fault you for the expression that used to appear on your face," she admitted. "You used to appear angry. You would glower at me. Though I recognize that it was not me you were glaring at. It was this."

He watched her hand as it moved from where it rested on the table…saw the finger that pointed…and observed as she set it in the direction of the starburst upon her forehead.

And he knew. He understood.

Everything was clear when the brand was placed.

"I am neither pleased nor displeased with the way you look at me now," she said matter-of-factly.

"As to be expected," he replied.

And their work carried on with no further interaction.

It always did. And it always would.


	15. Last Words

Pairing: Leandra Hawke/Marian Hawke  
>Prompt: Say a prayer<p>

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><p><em>Last Words<em>

Marian fell forward, her knees crashing to the cold, hard ground. Immediately she reached towards the woman in front of her; the woman who gave her life.

"Mother," she gasped, staring into eyes that did not belong to the face she gazed upon. "You…don't leave me. I can fix this." She took the woman fully into her arms, cradling her gently.

Leandra shook her head slowly. "No, my dear. It's too late for me."

Marian blinked wildly in a vain attempt to prevent the tears that were forming from spilling on to her cheeks. "I don't want you to leave me, mother. Anders! You…you must help me!" She strained to see the healer behind her, and he stepped forward. His posture betrayed his own emotions over the scene in front of him. But before he could speak, she felt her mother's hand – or at least the hand that belonged to a body that now held her mother's face – upon her cheek. She turned back to look down at the woman.

"Marian," she began. "There isn't anything you can do for me."

Her hand covered the hand upon her cheek and she could no longer fight back the tears.

"I'm sorry, mother. I didn't make it in time. I couldn't save you."

"I love you, Marian," she said quietly. "Promise me something."

"Anything, mother," the devastated woman replied.

"Pray for me, my darling," she begged. "Pray the Maker will send me into the arms of your father. Pray I will find your brother and sister."

She began to shake as grief overtook her.

"I will, mother," she said sadly as she grit her teeth.

But as she watched her mother take her final breath, she wondered if she would be able to fulfill her promise. How could she pray to a being that would rip her mother away from this mortal realm in such a manner?

How could she ever believe such a being would even care to hear her words?


	16. Blind Faith

**So, a long time ago I promised one ****_karebear_**** that I'd get back to writing Dragon Age. With some brief writing inspiration for other stories and a brief discussion about the world of Thedas, it seems I found a suitable prompt to get me back into it. Chantry-centric, no less.**

**Also, does this count as Bechdel test-approved?**

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><p>Pairing: Grand Cleric ElthinaDivine Justinia V  
>Prompt: Crooked stares and sideways glances<p>

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><p><em>Blind Faith<em>

The quiet sigh that sounded after the heavy door closed raised no eyebrows in the Kirkwall Chantry. Templars at the entrance nodded their heads in reverence to the woman who expressed her disdain for Tevinter architecture found throughout the city-state. Her sigh indicated she had finally found herself in more familiar surroundings; the Orlesian influence on the Chantry was evident. And welcome.

"Divine," greeted a nearby Sister, with a smile.

Justinia returned the smile with a nod and continued to confidently stride forward. Her contingent of Templars imitated her steps, following her to the foot of the great statue of Andraste. The dramatic descent to her knees was not unnoticed. The Chantry Sisters and Mothers nearby immediately ceased all action and paid silent heed to their spiritual leader.

The only sound heard were the soft shuffle of footsteps, hurrying to retrieve the Grand Cleric.

Elthina descended the grand staircase towards the Divine, curious as to the nature of the unannounced visit. She waited at the foot of the steps for Justinia to finish her moment of introspection.

When she finally rose to her feet, Elthina began to approach her.

"Dorothea," she began, before catching herself.

Justinia eyed her with a so very Orlesian smirk.

"My apologies, Divine," she corrected herself, kissing the woman's fingers respectfully. "Justinia. The time since your ascension has not been long."

"Forgiven, my Sister," Justinia replied, smiling. "Though it has been too long since I visited this Chantry."

Elthina nodded. "We are always happy for the Divine to grace our presence. Speaking of which, I suspect this is more than simply a friendly visit." Her voice lilted towards the end, expressing her uncertainty.

"We shall speak privately."

The two moved towards a private office, closing the doors behind them and leaving the Templars to guard access.

"The Andrastians display much curiosity," Elthina began as she turned to face her superior.

"And they are not the ones whose interest worries me," the Divine replied. "Whispers exist that a storm is brewing in Kirkwall. It has not been long since the incident with the Qunari. Now there is talk of resistance by the mages."

"Divine, the Circle here is perfectly—"

"The Circle is not the problem," Justinia interrupted. "Those who exist in the shadows deserve our concern. I beg you – push your heart aside to make room for wide eyes and open ears. Pay attention to the crooked stares. The sideways glances." She approached Elthina, placing her hands gently upon her shoulders. "I worry that a chain of events we may not be able to stop has begun."

Elthina placed one hand upon that of Justinia's and smiled. "I trust the Maker has a plan. I am a part of that plan, whatever the outcome. My faith dictates that all will work out as it should."

"My dear Elthina," she whispered, cupping the woman's cheek with her free hand. "The rumours of my past…they—." She dropped her hands to her sides. "Please. Be careful in whom you place your trust."

The subtext of Justinia's words was not lost on Elthina. The Blight in Ferelden had flushed so many refugees north, belief in the Maker was waning among the public at large. Many said the Maker had abandoned them.

She wondered now if the Divine was starting to believe them.


	17. Covert Operations

**In an effort to get back in the habit of writing, I've decided to make a serious attempt at updating this particular bunch of drabbles. It's rare when I can't find a prompt that speaks to me, so I figured 'why not?' I'm not certain if I'm 100% happy with this particular piece, but I also feel that the attempt is good enough and fits into the randomness of the Prompted series. It's a challenge to write the emotions of NPCs that you really have either no information on, or seem too straightforward to bring anything to the character. Whether I was successful or not, I actually wrote something. And at this point, that's good enough for me.**

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><p>Pairing: WynneDagna  
>Prompt: Stand your ground<p>

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><p><em>Covert Operations<em>

The young dwarf looked heartbroken as she leaned against the stone railing. The world of possibilities that had opened up when Dagna met the Grey Warden from the Circle, immediately imploded, taking all her hopes for the future with it.

It was hard to imagine the weight of a single word, until that word crushed your dreams.

Dagna's excitement was palpable when she spied the small group visiting Garin's stall. She tried to contain her enthusiasm when she noticed not one, but two mages browsing his wares with their other companions. Did her eyes deceive her? Mages didn't leave the Circle; if they did, there was likely trouble. No matter. She had her own concerns.

Calming her breathing to a measured pace, she made her presence known as the group continued on past her.

"Uh, excuse me?" she called out, her voice cracking from nervousness.

All four faces turned to her. The tallest of the group spoke.

"Are you talking to us?" he asked, gesturing to the rest of the group.

"Yes," she gulped. "I noticed that some of you were mages. Are you from the Circle?"

The tall man nodded, looking at the older woman next to him.

"Yes, we are of the Circle," the woman replied. "Is there something we can assist you with?"

"Oh! This is so exciting!" Dagna screeched. "Actual mages from the _actual_ Circle!"

"What is it, girl?" the mage grumbled. "We have business to attend to and you're slowing us down."

She nodded quickly.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, but I've never had the opportunity to ask this before."

She introduced herself and began to tell her story: how she was a member of the smith caste in Orzammar; how she felt out of place and didn't want to become a smith; how she became interested in the mages; and how she had repeatedly attempted to contact the Circle to request that she be allowed to go there to study.

"I would leave Orzammar," she explained, "but if the Circle turns me down, I'd just be another wandering dwarf on the surface. I wouldn't be allowed to return here. And so, I wait."

The man burst into laughter.

"Jorga Amell!" the older woman scolded. "Don't be so rude!"

"She's a dwarf, Wynne!" he replied. "A dwarf who fancies becoming a mage? I've never heard something so ridiculous."

"Please," Dagna interrupted. "It's all I ever wanted. To study among the mages. To learn about the properties of lyrium and to see the world not simply as a dwarf."

"No," Jorga stated emphatically. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what you're asking."

Wynne stood, flabbergasted at the close-minded reply from her companion.

"Why not?"

"Wynne, I don't have to explain myself to you," he replied, "but I will. You, above all, know the treatment of mages in Thedas. If I, a mage and Grey Warden, were to bring this request to the Circle, they would put me through the Rite of Tranquility on the spot by reason of insanity. Politically speaking, this is not helpful for the mages at all."

"How can you say that?" Wynne objected.

"Let me spell it out for you," he continued. "_Dwarves_ have access to _lyrium_. The Chantry _controls_ our access to lyrium. You can't tell me you don't think they wouldn't see this as an attempt to circumvent that."

"But—," Dagna protested.

"No!" Jorga growled, pointing his finger directly in the dwarf's face. Without a further word, the mage turned and walked away. His other two companions shrugged awkwardly and followed him, but Wynne remained.

She glanced at the dwarf, who looked to be on the verge of tears as she fell back on to the railing for support. Her entire world had just crashed down around her. The mage stepped forward, taking the young dwarf's hands into her own.

"Dagna, do not give up hope," Wynne said. "I will speak to my hard-headed companion. And if he refuses to budge, I will go to the First Enchanter myself. We mages need all the support we can muster."

Dagna looked up at the woman.

"You would really do that?"

"Without a second thought," Wynne replied. "And you will hear from the Circle. You will stand your ground until you get an acceptable response. The mages are under lock and key; kept under a watchful eye. But you? You would have the freedom to seek out resources from outside of the tower. You could be…"

Wynne trailed off. A secret smile crossed her lips.

"Forgive me, young dwarf," she said. "I must go. Do not forget what I said. Stand your ground."

Dagna's heart had broken, but was slowly pulling itself back together with Wynne's words of encouragement. It might take time for things to progress, but she was a dwarf. She had all the time in the world.


	18. Final Benediction

**The Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Group on Facebook has just celebrated 100 members. Huzzah! In response, a challenge has been issued for members to write 100 word drabbles using the DA random prompt generator. How fortunate that I can add this to my Prompted collection. Excluding the quote? 100 words, dead on. Boom.**

**Alas, we all know what happens to poor, dear Leandra in the end. So, there's this.**

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><p>Prompt: No escape<br>Pairing: Andraste/Leandra Hawke

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><p><em>Final Benediction<em>

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._

She was never overtly religious. She was a good woman, full of love and loyalty for her family. But with her husband, her body had become a vessel through which further magic was spread. They ran. They always ran.

_Please forgive me. Forgive them._

Yet now, as the blade inched closer to her face, she yearned for the approval of the prophet. For herself. For her family.

Ironic, then, that she sought the comfort of a long-dead woman whose twisted words hunted her family.

Those same twisted words, unable to protect her in her final moments.

She ran no longer.


End file.
